Christmas Kisses and Confessions
by Jimelda
Summary: Scully/Mulder. OneShot. Scully is paid a visit on Christmas morning. "How could someone I love betray me so completely?"


**Title: **Christmas Kisses and Confessions  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary: **Scully is paid a visit from a certain someone on Christmas morning.  
**Spoilers: **Early season 2, pre-Duane Barry.  
**A/N: **I have only seen the first two season of X-Files so far, so I apologize for any parts of this fic which may not fit with the storyline in later seasons. Enjoy and Merry Christmas.

* * *

Scully's Apartment  
Washington, D.C.  
December 25, 1993  
2:45 AM

It's a knock on my door at two in the morning that sends me sprawling out of bed, shivering in the cold air and already beyond furious at whoever is standing on the other side of my apartment walls. My jaw drops open as I catch sight of my partner swaying unsteadily in the hall, specks of snow resting in his lightly tosseled hair.

"Mulder? What are you doing here?" _And why are you drunk_? I wonder, but manage to keep from asking aloud.

"Merry Christmas, Scully," he says, staring at me pitifully, his eyes glazed.

"It's not even three o'clock yet, Christmas is barely here. Couldn't this wait?" I ask, impatience leaking into my voice. Surely he hasn't come all this way to wish me season's greetings? My partner may be a lot of things, but clinically insane is not one of them. At least, not until now.

"I can't stop thinkin' 'bout it," he slurs, assuming I will automatically know what he means. Yep, definitely drunk.

"About what?" I prompt as he remains silent.

"The case." _Ah_, I think, as certain details suddenly fall into place. This past week he'd called me down to California to investigate the claims of a woman who believed her daughter had been abducted by aliens. I thought the entire situation sounded beyond ridiculous and, being so close to the holidays, I was sorely tempted to put my foot down and stay home this time. But even I can't resist when Mulder uses his charm on me; so I packed my bags and followed him halfway across the country.

The investigation turned out differently than either of us could have predicted, however, when the woman turned out to be guilty of kidnapping the daughter herself. Even I had to admit, her story was fairly convincing once we heard more about the supposed _abduction_. So the truth came as a surprise to both of us.

But it hit Mulder the hardest, part of the reason being he identified the mother's situation as one akin to his own. Both having lost a young woman who was close to them, he'd already formed a bond with the mother before he met her.

Oh, how wrong he was. And now, a week later, he can't seem to stop thinking about it.

"Why don't you come in, Mulder?" I suggest forcefully, gesturing inside. The last thing I want is for a neighbour to hear our hushed whispers of information pertaining to the X-Files. "What about the case?" I ask, once he has collapsed onto the couch.

"Wish they'd believed me," he mutters to himself. I sigh, tiring quickly of this particular game.

"What do you mean?" He gazes at me steadily, despite his obvious intoxication, and I notice the guilt written across his face; he truly believes what he's saying, enough so that he sounds completely sober.

"When I close my eyes, all I see is that little girl locked in the trunk of a car for three days by her own mother. What would've happened if we hadn't found her, huh Scully?"

I shake my head, confused. "But we did find her..." _So why are you here?_

"And what good did it do? By the time I convinced the police to make an arrest, the mother was long gone. It's all my fault. Now that little girl will spend the rest of her life in foster care, filled with injustice. All because of my goddam reputation as the FBI nut job. If the state authorities hadn't thought I was calling in about some UFO, maybe they'd have gotten there sooner and everything would have been different...

"No one ever believes me, Scully. Who wants to listen to _Spooky _Mulder?" He falls silent, taking in whatever expression is written across my face. "What, nothing to say? The skeptic Dana Scully cannot come up with a comment against her partner's lunatic ravings?"

Once more he pauses – this time mouthing something to himself – then he laughs, slipping back into the haze-induced state caused by his alcohol consumption. I am wary to ask, but decide I'd rather know than risk having it come back and bite me in the ass later on.

"Something funny?" I say, voice dripping with sarcasm; he's clearly too drunk to catch it.

"Scully," he chuckles.

"Yes...?"

"I never noticed before. Your name's fitting, huh? Dana Scully. FBI. Medical doctor. Skully." He bursts out laughing. I cross my arms slowly, less than amused; as if I haven't heard those comments before.

"You wanna know what the worst part is?" he asks, his face returning to a neutral expression. He's a serious drunk, Mulder is.

"Huh?" I spout out, unintelligently. It takes me a minute to realize he has continued back to our previous conversation, as if there was no discussion in between.

"The worst part is you, Scully. I couldn't care less if the rest of the goddam FBI thinks what I do is a joke. But after all we've seen 'n' all we've been through, how can you still not believe, in just the tiniest part of your rational mind, that somethin' else has to be out there? That there's more to our life, our _existence_, than this?"

I can only stare, open-mouthed, at my clearly beyond-intoxicated partner. I had no idea he took my absolute refusal to believe in anything supernatural so personally.

"I never said I don't believe you, Mulder," I start, trying to rectify the situation, forgetting there is no reasoning with a drunk; he doesn't give me a chance to say another word.

"You don't have time for me anymore. You're always too busy with your _job,_" he scoffs at the word, "and you're never there when I need you."

"Mulder," I try again, exasperated. I've never been privy to this clingy side of him before and I can't say it is a personality trait very becoming of him. "I just flew across the country with you on a whim. I'm always available to take your calls and usually am willing to stop whatever I am doing, at the drop of a hat, for a case. What more do you want?"

"You," is his simple reply. "I want us to work together again. Officially. I want you to drop by my office during the day just 'cause you want to. I wanna hear your voice, not 'cause you're calling to talk about a case, but 'cause you wanna chat. I miss you," he finishes sadly.

I shake my head in amazement. He must be more drunk than I'd first thought; even when we were _officially_ working together, I'd never done any of that. Back then our relationship was based strictly on work.

Apparently I need to accept that our separation has changed things between us in that regard. For the worse, in Mulder's opinion.

"You told me you'd never stop caring about the X-Files, Scully. You lied. You're enjoying your work now much more than you ever did when you were with me. It hurts to have someone I love betray me so completely."

"I – " Wait, did he say he loved me? Before my mind can process that revelation, he is heaving himself up off the couch and taking one fairly unsteady step after another, until he is kissing me. At first I immediately pull away, more from shock than anything else, but his lips press against mine once more and I no longer want to go anywhere.

So much for my _rational mind_.

The moan that escapes from between Mulder's teeth – along with an overwhelming rush of alcohol that, all of sudden, doesn't taste so bad – is fuel to a fire before my own passion. This time it is me deepening the kiss, my body automatically stinging with sexual tension as his own reacts.

We are on the couch, his hand beginning to inch beneath my shirt, before some remaining sensibility kicks in. Struggling to pull myself away, my attempts are only made more difficult as Mulder continues to drag me closer. Finally, when his lips are occupied with my neck, I use whatever breath I can to murmur, "Mulder, we can't do this."

"Why not?" he replies, just a quietly, against my ear, sending a tingle down my spine and along the very contours of my body. For the briefest of moments I can't help but agree with him. What's the harm? It doesn't take me long to realize exactly how this will affect our relationship, however. And not only that, but I refuse to let myself become the kind of woman who would take advantage of her partner in his state.

My concerns become redundant when, as long as it takes me to make my decision, Mulder's vice-like grip slackens and he drifts off to sleep. Passes out is more like it. Tempted to lie in his arms for a while longer, I quickly detangle myself instead; unsure how long my self-control will hold.

As I sit against the back of the couch, my chin resting on my knees (_too wired to go back to sleep_) I gaze at the thin sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains, thinking back to what Mulder said. In the midst of trying to come to terms with what has happened, I realize that I understand what he meant. In fact, now I can relate perfectly because I know, without a doubt, that Mulder won't remember any of this in the morning, whereas I will be able to recall each and every individual moment. But I certainly am not about to be the one to tell him; he'll never believe me.

So there I sit, watching the sky slowly lighten and the sun gradually rise while the snores of my partner (_who has unexpectedly become so much more_) echo behind me; as Christmas day truly begins. And for the first time, I think that something else is out there after all. Maybe not something extraterrestrial like Mulder wants to believe, but something else just as deadly and mysterious.

Love.

The greatest case of all, one I can only hope to solve for myself.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," I whisper, heart as heavy as the surrounding silence; waiting for an answer that I hope will not come for a few hours more. Or at least until I can come up with a decent story.


End file.
